Stealing Lives
by kuroren23
Summary: AU: He was looking for a new start-a way to escape the darkness of the world he was desperate to leave behind. She was sliding deeper into the hell she didn't know anything about. Who else could save an innocent trapped in hell but a fallen angel?
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note:**

Standard Disclaimer stands. Soul Eater and all its relevant characters belong to the genius that is Ookubo Atsushi. I am merely borrowing them.

Now to clarify-my characters are older—most of them would be in their early twenties. They do not belong to the Death World where the original character reside. In this respect, they are not the same individuals. I leave it to the audience to discover in what ways they differ from the original. That being said, they still possess the same inherent thread of fun and intrigue that made the series so addictive. Please enjoy—I certainly had fun thinking up situations for the grown up versions of these memorable characters.

* * *

"**Destiny grants us our wishes, but in its own way, in order to give us something beyond our wishes."**

_Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_

* * *

**HE THAT DETERMINES FATE**

**STEIN**

_**3:00 A.M.**_

_**Meridian Avenue**_

_**Death City**_

"_**I want another partner."**_

The voice whispered from the darkest corner of the room which, he would've sworn to his dying breath, had been empty just a moment ago. But then again it was always like that when HE comes to visit. He comes in and out of the shadows like he was born from it. His voice slithers through the air, stealing close enough to be heard by those he wished to address before vanishing back into eerie silence just as stealthily. Nighttime visits with him always leaves one to wonder if they actually heard him or it they only succumbed to a figment of their own twisted imagination.

Stein didn't bother to turn around. He knew from experience that his erstwhile guest would only step out of his precious shadows if there was no other way to reach an intended target. Or if curiosity overcame him enough to make him risk the light. Otherwise his night-time visitor preferred the anonymity provided by the nooks and crannies that cradled him more securely than a lover. It was an arrangement that he grew accustomed to over the many years of professional relationship. It was either that or take a paranoia pill to curve the urge to swing at every shadow that crept near. He didn't think there were enough pills to last him through retirement so he decided to get used to the heebie-jeebies.

"What happened to your current one?" he asked. HE had to. Standard Operating Procedure when you ran an operation like his. Normally the people that crept into his office were pairs—very few—had to come alone. It wasn't a sign of bravado or confidence when people appear alone. It had 'bad sign' written all over it when they do. It means someone screwed up and that he would have the unfortunate fate of cleaning up after it.

The answer when it came was predictably brief.

'"Expired."

_**Expired**_. A colorless terminology that did not so much as hint at the visceral truth that hid behind such simplistic phonological construct. _Expired. Extinguished. _In a far more vulgar parlance the term simplymeant_**dead**_. The words change but the reality didn't. The manifold catchphrases of their chosen trade have expanded but not the stark truth that hid behind it.

"What about the client? Or should I know better than ask?"

This time the reply came with its usual measured, cold monotone but there was a pronounced chill, an icier edge actually, than it had been a second before, if that could be believed.

"The man on my list has been swabbed—after a fashion. I wouldn't have bothered coming back if that wasn't the case."

"Gave you a bit of problem didn't he?"

"Led me to a merry chase but that's to be expected. Something like that lived for the thrill of the hunt. I thought it only fair that I give as good as I got. That's just courtesy right?"

"And we all know you're the very soul of propriety. You vindictive bastard, you made him pay for running, didn't you?"

"What do you think?"

He resisted the urge to snort in derisive resignation. Pushing aside the piled up stacks of books, bound ledgers and crumpled, stained notes, he grabbed a pen and pulled out a black folder from amidst the clutter. Stein glanced at the file opened in front of him and tapped the bound pages as he wrote those words on one corner of the blank with an absentminded hand. _Swabbed after a fashion_. That means that the target actually had the guts to run and try to get away. A pointless exercise as far as Stein was concerned. The contract was undertaken by the Soul Eater himself. There was but one expected ending to such a task.

**DEATH.**

The target must've realized that what came after it was no ordinary enforcer if it took only one contract to execute a favorable response. That's the only reason most of them run. They think if they do, they would increase their chance for surviving. Stein wished he could tell them it only pissed his agent more. He added a few more words to the case file in front of him.

_**Expiration due to extreme aggression. Execution via lethal means.**_

Something told him that his unusual guest has moved from his original spot and perched somewhere farther from where his desk was positioned. Stein allowed his gaze to fall on the deep shadows of his balcony and wondered again why he bothered with an office with an actual door when no one of his many agents bothered to use it. More than half the agents he was directly in-charge of used the balcony as their point of entry. Not a few simply threw themselves in via the windows and some of the really dangerous ones had the nasty habit of materializing inside like some beleaguered phantom waiting to exact revenge upon his unsuspecting head.

"If I allow myself to think and contemplate the number of annoying madness and insanity that passes off for common sense amongst you guys, I would need a stiff drink the moment I crank my eyes open in the morning."

"You get a stiff drink anyways even when we have no assignment."

He gave out a wicked chortle before sticking the pen he was writing with into his mouth, making the pen move up and down as he spoke. "When I want your advice about what I drink in the morning, remind me to NOT ask you."

"Fine. Would you mind sending over one of those chairs? My back is killing me and I need a chair."

Stein swore before kicking one of the swivel chairs towards the direction of the balcony. He waited for the squeak of the tires to be halted before continuing with his debriefing. "You know you wouldn't have to suffer the pain if you'd just do the sensible thing and parked your stubborn ass in here where there's a perfectly good couch. Why do you guys always use that—there's a door for Hades' sake."

"Balcony is easier to gain access to. Quicker, more efficient—and no one sees when we come or go."

"Fine. Like I would bother to lecture you bone-heads on something as mundane as that." Stein muttered. He waved the file he held aloft, "I know it would smack as a tad obsessive on my part but would you care to be more specific when you fill out your file later in the day? I don't want to have to to bother having you tracked down just to get the nitty-gritty of this assignment down on paper when Azusa starts grilling my ass for the lack of details."

"Fine."

"Expect the rest of the payment to be transferred to your account as soon as you leave this room. I had the bank waiting on standby. Anything else you would like for me to add before I finalize this report?" When no response was forthcoming he simply opened one the many file cabinets that surrounded his mini island of a desk and shoved the folder in. He closed the drawer with a resolute kick and settled back against his battered office chair. He pinned the shadows where he approximated his guest to be with a surprised look.

"Now...that's one more thing done and over-what! You're still here? You want to tell me something?"

"I don't think I want another swab-job. Smacks at becoming too much like routine."

"You're getting bored at doing swabs?" he asked incredulously. The notion was unfathomable for both him and the one he was talking to. The Soul Eater cannot be saying what he assumes he's saying—the man was too good to retire and he wasn't—as yet—showing any of the tell-tale marks of an agent on the verge of burn-out or turning rouge. "You planning on retiring?"

The silence went ripe with the palpable air of derision and disbelief and for a moment Stein wished he had kept his mouth shut. It was damnably annoying having to figure out what would and wouldn't set of the trigger happy yahoos he worked with. The creature in front of him may not be one to talk his ear off (unlike his other young agent) but he could say a whole damn lot even with his silence.

"I would do the other assignments but I would like to have a say on who I swab. At the very least I want to swab those that would actually know precisely what's coming to them."

"You could have a larger pay for the tougher one to be sure-but you will have significant pay cuts if none of the whackos appear on the grid."

"I understand and the pay won't be a problem. I would just do more jobs."

"Azusa might take it upon her stubborn head to ask why."

"She's free to ask as much as I'm free enough to ignore her until she goes away."

"Any reason for this change of preference?"

"Nothing really significant. Just felt that it was time."

The statement went through Stein like a bolt of lightning. It was the third time today that he heard those particular words coming out of the mouth of someone most people would never even consider to be the considering kind. _It had to be some kind of weird ass coincidence_. _Or he could see it as fate_. Something tells him that no matter what he decides to call it, somewhere, somehow, something has begun to move into motion. A slow sinister smile slashed across his thin pale lips until he finally gave in and chortled in wicked glee.

"It was time huh? Hell of a reason to want to quit scything through willing targets."

"Most of them were rather unwilling you know. All of them actually, except for the real basket cases that were clearly asking for it."

Stein chuckled again and this time annoyance echoed clearly through his guests tone.

"Yes. Now that I managed to give you your daily dose of chuckles, can we attend to what I came here for? I want another partner. It's not an immediate concern but I would like one before the next client make a demand."

"Hmm…" he murmured contemplatively.

"Is that a yes?"

"No…"

"So that's a no."

"No…"

Annoyance flicked through his guests voice once more. This time the edge of violence that the man kept so exquisitely leashed slipped a few careful notches enough to make Stein well aware of it. The tell-tale sound made him smile.

"I suggest you get to the point, you decrepit Bolt-Head. I didn't come here for rhetorical games. If you want to engage in that you should've schedule some personal time with the Reaper himself. He delights in making people's head whirl with the obvious and the oblivious just to get his daily chuckles worth."

"Temper much?"

"I don't have one. If you want a display of temper, why don't you ask the Neanderthal you recently had me track down and later hired."

"Well, you're certainly making me think that you do."

This time it wasn't just a voice that came out to imply displeasure at his sudden inquisitive streak. His night-time guest materialized as if summoned from some dark, dangerous corner of hell. The figure stalked across his cluttered floor, hooked a leg through one of the stiff backed chairs that lined against the wall, straddled it and then pinned him with an unholy glare that spoke volumes of his irritation.

The face that darkness concealed so effectively and the light now caressed seemed like that of a carven doll. Sharp, clean-cut features created the perfect foil for the shock of snow-white bush of wild hair that bloomed like wildfire and those chillingly haunting blood-red eyes. Stein's guest was a study of contrasts—from his shockingly vivid coloring to the completely black ensemble that he wore to highlight the fit and well-tone body he possessed. The black form-fitting suit hinted more about the guest's occupation more than anything else. It was smooth, made of Kevlar and lined with what looked at first like red trim—that is unless he moved. When he does, the seemingly safe red trim glittered like lit fires, revealing that they were not harmless cloth but rather blades that could be stealthily drawn from all sides.

"Got tired of lounging like a lizard sunning on my balcony?"

"It's the dead of night unless you're blind. I wanted to be near enough not to exert effort if I decided killing you would be more efficient than having to listen to your twaddle all night."

"I'll say it again brat—temper much?"

"I want an answer to the question I posed."

"Sleep is what you need."

"I sleep."

Stein nodded and asked as if it was an afterthought though the hawk-like intensity of his gaze beneath his lashes proved his interest to be anything but casual.

"When's the last time you slept?"

"Why the sudden interest in my sleeping habits all of a sudden?" the voice, through the same monotonous inflection still conveyed enough defiance and annoyance at being questioned to make Stein smirk and continue on.

"Do you sleep at all?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"When? At night. Whenever I have the time. When there is an opportunity."

"And when was the last time you deemed it to be an opportune moment?"

"This is not an inquisition on my sleeping habits. I only wanted to know if there was a possibility that I would get a new partner."

"Soon."

The response broke the tense aura that pervaded the room just moments ago. This time, when he spoke, there was a curious sense of intrigue and interest in Stein's voice that told his guest what he was saying wasn't something to be taken lightly.

"Hey…can I ask you a question? Purely hypothetical you understand, but I would really like to know what you think."

"Ask away. It's not like I have anything pressing to take care of."

"What would you say if I tell you that I'm thinking of leaving the organization?"

"Three things." His guest slid a hand along an arm guard casually as if brushing away specks of dust. When he raised his hand, a glittering ebony and crimson kunai twirled gracefully around his index finger. "One, you're trying to test me because someone asked you to-in which case they must be utter idiots. Two, you want to piss me off because you're bored and you haven't found a new plaything to experiment on. Or three, you've some kind of weird chemical floating in your system and its finally affecting your brain enough to make you dumber than you already look. Personally, I think you should call a halt on siphoning off the crazy juice. That, along with the nicotine swimming in your weird ass constitution might make me a tad leery. You, better than most, should know the one cardinal truth in this place. No one can leave the organization. No one willingly leaves the organization."

'What if it could be done—no, what if it would be done? What would you say then?"

"Hypothetically? First, I'd ask how I could be done in the first place. I have a few rules to live by and one of those rules states that I never take on anything I haven't betted as thoroughly as a Caesar's wife. The second thing I would think about is what's in it for you."

"You're one paranoid bastard. That's probably the best reason I have for liking you."

"I'm actually disgusted by that statement beyond imagining. Don't make me lose my appetite. I haven't had dinner yet and I have it on good authority I can be a bastard when I'm hungry. Now do you actually have a point for this hypothetical question or are you going to answer mine instead?"

"You're no fun in this current mood of yours. Fine. Let me answer the second question first."

"Don't rupture a neuron while you're at it."

"Don't be snippy. The reason is simple. Independence."

He knew the simple words would translate far more when spoken to this particular one. Only those who dwell in the deepest, dankest corner of the organization understood what the word stood for. It was not something they talked about openly, but it was something fundamental inside all of them."

"And the first question?"

"Two words, my friend. Leverage and manpower."

"And how do you get about getting it done?"'

"First, we need the manpower. When we have that—I could start targeting for the leverage."

"Hn."

"So what do you say?"

His guest came to his feet with the languid smooth grace of a predator lazily coming awake. It belied the sheer strength it would take to execute the maneuver so effortlessly-especially when one carries a virtual armory on one's body.

"I want a better deal when you start assigning my wages. The first deal I signed sucked like wet galoshes on a frigid swamp."

"Deal."

He walked towards the balcony once more before pausing at the threshold to glance back and pin Stein with his unfathomable crimson gaze.

"And oh, while you're at it, consider recruiting the Reaper's kid. That would be hitting your twin targets with one bad-ass stone. I'm sure that would get you manpower and the kind of leverage no one but the top man himself could contest."

"The only question is—would the Kid even consider."

"Why wouldn't he? Wasn't he the one who proposed it to you?"

"Damn. How did you find out?"

"I didn't but you managed to confirm it right now."

"You scary bastard."

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard people say that. I try not to take it personally."

Stein chuckled and bending down, scooped up a book that fell on the wayside.

"I just bet they do."

The words echoed loudly in the room and caused goosebumps to erupt on his skin. Stein didn't bother to look up. As surely as he knows the truth of the book lying innocuously in his hand was real, he knows too the undeniable truth that the room was now empty. His guest vanished just as quietly as he had come.

* * *

_**3:30 A.M.**_

_**Desolation Row**_

_**The Eclipse of Angel's Bar**_

_**Maka Albarn was the channeling the goddess of the quintessential biker-chick-gone-wild. That or an escapee from the nearest goth mental hospital.**_

At least she looked the part of someone suffering from some majorly serious personal issues. Otherwise, why would she, a sane woman of legal age and reasonably sane frame of mind, be in such a place? A place even the cheapest cockroach would down on? A bar that advertises that its "the place where the sun will never shine"? Wearing, of all things, something that deserved to be relegated to the realms of a Halloween costume.

The tight, randomly slashed leather vest left a good eight inches of her skin from under her breastbone to the dip of her navel bare to every Tom, Dick and Wall-eyed Wally that would bother to take a look. She was desperate to take a deep breath to calm her nerves but doing so would take more daring than even she could spare for this one night. Every time she attempted to do so her questionable outfit slid into the realm of risqué—yielding precious precarious centimeters with even the smallest of inhalation. She had to forcibly restrain an agonized groan from escaping her tightly clamped lips as she recalled the conversation that led to her current outfit.

* * *

**_Flashback to two nights ago…_**

_The news she'd been waiting for finally came. The only problem was that there was no way she would pass as a patron of the local denizens of the hovel-pretending-to-be-a-bar where her target currently resides. In her panicked desperation she sought the counsel of the only people who could offer her viable solution. She called up her old roommates, the Thompson Twins from her university days and asked for their help in dressing the part. It was an occasion that taught her a very valuable lesson. _

"_Why can't I go there as I am? I think I look well enough." she muttered mutinously as she looked down on the plaid skirt, long coat and shirt she wore. She looked up at the muffled laughter that broke over her friends. "Hey! Stop making fun of my clothes! It suits me just fine!"_

_Liz gave a derisive snort. "Yeah, it should, if this was some Sunday school outing. Newsflash, Missie, this isn't some field trip down Prudery Lane. Your current assignment resides in a dive I wouldn't even call a bar unless I was truly desperate. And I pray to the gods I never will be."_

_She had to sigh as her eyes fell on her friend. Blessed with gorgeous long blonde hair and blue eyes that complimented her tall svelte figure dressing has never been an issue for Liz. Everything she wore was made instantly stylish by her natural flair._

"_But Liz, look at me. There's no way I can figure out what to wear there. My mom really wasn't big on the whole let's dress up and go party scene while I was growing up. How the hell am I supposed to know what biker chicks wear when they go trolling out?"_

"_Why do you want to go there anyways Maka-chan? I don't like that place, its stinks worse than three week-old garbage! I should know—Big Sis has dragged me around to places with older garbage—and believe me, the smell doesn't wash off that easily."_

"_Oh so you're still griping over that?"_

"_Yup! That little side-trip ruined my best moccasin boots."_

_Maka had to laugh. It's been a few months since she last saw these two but their vivid personalities remain as original and refreshing as they ever. Patty said whatever comes to her mind without a care in the world. It was a refreshing contrast to the controlled, painfully correct and proper world she normally dwelled in. Still the words brought a sad gleam to her deep emerald eyes._

"_I'm sad that you've had to stay in such places Patty-chan."_

"_Oh I didn't mind—well, excepting the ruining of my boots. Big Sis and I weren't there for long. Just for another assignment. It was a piece of cake and the Boss paid me back with a new pair."_

"_Now back to the matter on hand. I suggest that you allow us to outfit you with the proper accoutrement. It wouldn't do to blow your cover just because you stand out like a sore thumb wearing your good-girl-goes-to-Sunday-school get-up."_

"_Definitely. Big Sis and I would make you into the prettiest little biker chick. Maybe even make you meet some cute guys along the way."_

"_That's a brilliant idea Patty! I couldn't have thought of a better incentive than that. Just imagine the many, many wicked possibilities with all those available dates Maka-chan?"_

_She almost choked on her outrage and she rushed to arrest the wicked gleam of deviousness sparkling in the twins gaze._

"_Oh no! I agree on the idea of dressing so that I would blend in but I refuse to turn this into some kind of dating service. Looking the part would make getting in easier and make it harder for witnesses to pin down an exact description if it comes down to it. Any suggestions then?"_

"_Leave it to us. We wont fail you. You will knock 'em them for sure."_

"_Yeah Maka-chan. Leave it to Patty and Big Sis. We know exactly what to do."_

**_END FLASHBACK_**

* * *

**Leave it to them, my ass. I will never again agree to shop with those two. They have the fashion sense of a street thug on drugs. Just look at this outrageous get up they made me wear. It looks like I filched my clothes from a scrap heap.**

The slinky scrap of black material she would not dignify with the term 'skirt' barely covered more than two palms' worth of distance leaving her to wonder if the salespeople she bought it from mistakenly labeled it as such rather than as a wide belt which it resembled more prominently. The only comfort she had regarding the whole ensemble was the fact that she got to keep her titanium-enforced gloves and boots on. The simple accoutrements made her feel a little less naked—and it's a feeling she was certain wasn't brought about by the scant measure of cloth that presently covers her shivering body.

No, the strange frisson of vulnerability she knows well enough comes from the knowledge that tonight is a test. One she couldn't afford to fail. A test that could possibly give her the very thing that she has been craving for ever since she could remember—her freedom. Tonight, her mother's strict training wheels could finally be shed off—the endless weeks of studying to be what her mother wanted her to be—what she deemed she ought to be. The sweat and tears and blood that poured from her all throughout her childhood would be finally paid off after she accomplishes this final test. No matter what happens she will not fail.

The last month had been spent in an agony of waiting and frustration. All her research and all her meticulous planning dwindled into nothing substantial beyond the odd rumor or two. The book seemed to have come to existence only to fade into the realm of legends and hearsay just as quickly. Then suddenly, someone somewhere overheard a conversation between a local thug and a seedy purveyor of stolen goods and dubious fences. According to the local crypt rat—shady individuals that troll the graveyards in order to find stolen goods—the book came out of hiding when the local hermit finally cocked up his toes and his estate passed into the hands of the avaricious heirs. The book was apparently overlooked and as such ended up in the hands of the local mafia king who prided himself on his collection oddities related to the macabre. And although he usually preferred rare death scrolls and the more mundane daggers and weapons of war, this time around he formed an unlikely attachment for the near-mythical volume despite not knowing what it's all about.

She heard the news during one of her regular patrols around the local pawnshops and antique shops. Though relegated as a vague rumor not even worthy of any attention, it riveted her. It was the first sighting since the last documented owner claimed the famed volume. She couldn't let this chance slip from her grasp. She finally—after all this time—have the opportunity to gain everything she ever dreamed of. Only a fool would let such a chance pass her by. And her Mom raised no fool—married one—but not raise one.

She will retrieve the one book that her even her own mother, renowned book thief that she was, couldn't. It would seal her transition from her apprentice to a real pro herself. She will do anything—even go through hell itself to get her target.

She will get her hands on the most elusive book of all.

By the end of this night, Thanatos will be hers.


	2. Chapter 2

**"Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former."**

- _Albert Einstein (1879-1955)_

* * *

**MAKA**

Truly some days were downright more annoying than others. Murphy law days suck—especially when Fate decides that today you're _**IT**_.

The request arrived while Maka was in the midst of her midweek sessions in the local kendo dojo. It was part of her routine—one of the many things that she did to fill the seemingly endless hours of the day. The serene severity of the place soothed some part of that was currently at odds with the kind of life she was living. It was as if she needed to be around people that thrive on the same air that she once lived on—like a recovering smoker takes surreptitious sniff of nicotine when the craving just gets too strong to be resisted. The intricate kata that comes along with naginata training took her thoughts away from the mundane and the frustrating into one that offered security and succor.

She was well into the second phase of the kata when her movements were halted by the familiar touch of her instructor's hand on her shoulder as she swung the heavy weight of the naginata she was practicing with. It was a good thing she noticed his approach from the corner of her eyes or else she knows that her moves wouldn't have ended on such a smooth glide that ended with the naginata blade safely on the floor and not embedded in her hapless sensei. When the kindly old instructor spoke to her in his husky gravelly voice it took her a while to figure out what he meant. Maka had to ask him to repeat what he said before she extended a hand forward to receive the thin envelop that lay so innocuously on his palm. She bowed to excuse herself and quietly padded to one of the smaller changing rooms used by the denizens of the dojo.

The intricately designed steal pressed against the wax seal made her pause. Maka wondered at the anonymous piece of paper that bore only her name written in a flowing script that gave away no indication of where it came from or from whom. With a hand that shook a little, Maka broke the crimson seal and pulled the thin sliver of paper inside. The words didn't mean much at first but when she tried one of the codes she used to employ when sending messages she finally cracked the mystery behind the suddenness of the letters arrival. After reading the short missive a third time—she wished she hadn't gone and done the stupid exercise of cracking the code. Now she's be stuck and duty bound to fulfill the contract stated in it.

Sometimes it really sucked when one is thorough. Maka cursed at her own inability to allow laziness to overcome her and just give in to the impulse to chuck the paper out or used it to wipe down the moisture that made the naginata shaft slippery. It would've infinitely been more practical and useful that way. If she had done precisely that the she wouldn't have to find out a few days after what it feels like to walk the gauntlet of being initiated into biker-chick-hood. She would also never have to be someone she hadn't been in a long time.

There was something infinitely frustrating about dealing with what passes for Karmic comedy knowing full well there is not a damn thing you could do about it and tonight Maka Albarn is caught right smack in the middle of her very own version of one.

* * *

Maka Albarn liked her quiet existence. She liked the quite pleasure of anonymity offered someone like her. The sheer delight in being one of the crowds that watches and is never watched. She didn't often sport the rocker-turned-biker-goth Barbie edition look. In fact, if one would investigate and ask her closest acquaintance and co-workers, they would be more likely to say that her reputation runs along the 'too-staid-and-prudish' lot. Certainly she would never be caught wearing what she had on right now. For one thing she was normally more covered than she current was when venturing outside. She liked being sensibly dressed—in clothes that actually fit and contains more than combined surface area of a yard. Certainly nothing that screamed her favorite store had the kind of patron that worked as a part-time dominatrix on a high.

On any given day, at this time of night, she would be typically and blissfully ensconced in her favorite chair reading a good book, organizing fund-raisers and request for private readings or busy honing her expertise on turn of the century manuscripts. Dinner would be waiting right next to her and she would be clothed in something soft, cottony and _**decent**_. On any given night, she would be the same as she always been—a typical, if slightly straitlaced—librarian. A bookworm with a doctorate degree that would only ever impress others like herself. A regular wall flower during almost every event and proud card-carrying member of Invisible 'R Us.

_**But not tonight. **_

_**Tonight she was anything but straitlaced, invisible or bookish. She couldn't have been more visible if she held a neon sign over her chest that read "Notice ME" in shining, blinking LED lights.**_

Tonight, she had to grit her teeth—_like she has been doing for the last hour and a half_—to keep her temper in check and so as not to give away the fact that she was freezing her ass off in the worst version of a Halloween costume she never imagined she would be desperate enough to wear in public. She was also trying not to think of massive amount of mousse blended together in her hair allowing for the utterly mind-boggling hairstyle to remain untouched and unfazed through much of her tantrum and for whatever else the night would offer her. An insidious thought regarding the exact amount of time, hair products and effort it would take to make it normal again made her wince. By the time this little incident is over her hair might never recover. So much for the salon treatment she spent half her paycheck on.

Tonight she's forced to teeter dangerously on top of some flimsy steel and vinyl contraption of torture they call knee-high boots with stiletto heels. The three inch heels were the highest she could manage without toppling over like some tipsy drunken strumpet with muscular atrophy. The fact was not aided by the fact that she felt her face was so heavily laden with make-up it could actually upset her balance. One glance at a nearby window showed her what she secretly feared when Liz came up to her with a stick she called a liner. It certainly made a line—a whole highway width of it on her eyes. Despite the raccoon eyes and the bleeding, I'm-a-part-time-vampire lips, her friends had the temerity to say she actually 'rocked' the look. It was enough to make her rethink her options. But a few wolf whistles that her getup garnered made her think Liz was actually psychic—that or she bribed the idiots so that she wouldn't have a leg to stand on when she comes home to complain.

Tonight she was donning another mask—another life. Tonight she was not Maka Albarn the respected Assistant Head Librarian of the famed Elysian Institute. Tonight she was not their headstrong; conscientious chairperson who manages each and every time to finesse her way to get funding or bequests from rich patrons. Tonight she was someone else completely. Tonight she was donning another face—one from another time and place—another life. Tonight she is a Meister on a mission, fulfilling the mandate of her organization—living up to the ideals to which she was weaned—Protect, Preserve and Liberate. And tonight the fact that she's once more playing Book Thief to pay for someone else's mistake else is seriously pissing her off.

* * *

The bar was a dive in every known definition, illustration and description of the term. If ever a health inspector would be insane—or drugged—enough to come in here, chances are they would need to be decontaminated before they're fit for the general public ones more. There were very few strategically placed lights—the dance floor was drenched in psychedelic streaks of neon laser lights, the bar was brilliantly illuminated to ensure that even the most drunken patron could find it. The only other thing that was illuminated was the exits and the bright blood red cordoned off area near the rear staircase.

Scarred tables were covered by thinning, punctured strips of vinyl—the design and color of which long forgotten by both owner and patron since the only time the color would've been revealed were the occasional mornings when some new, bored crew gave the surface a desultory wipe. The chairs that were once padded now resembled a skeleton barely clinging to a few strips of hardy flesh. They were both for their durability and nothing else. Everyone used them as prop for when drinking became too long or too strong. Here and there boisterous laughter would break out amidst the sound of bottles clinking and hitting glasses, the strident shouts of waitresses as they barked order to the harried bartenders.

The clientele in the bar would be the kind one could and would euphemistically call as diverse, cutting-edge or even raw. A kinder, more generous soul might even call them a bit rowdy and expectedly noisome. A more realistic observer with no compunction for personal safety would label the lot as troublemaking dregs, vulgar and totally lacking in anything decorous.

Leather reigned king here and its queen-apparent seems to be of the spiky-chrome and steel chain link persuasion. Make up was of the tanuki-variety too and so for the first time she actually felt like she could pull off tonight's little side-trip without totally standing out like a sore thumb.

She picked the open seat near the bar, adjacent to the curiously cordoned off area, keeping her back against the wall and making sure that no one would get a jump on her. She learned long ago never to leave her back vulnerable to sudden attacks or surprises. It was a godsend when she saw the empty seat when she came in. The place was packed and she didn't want to run the risk of having people sit next to her and hindering her view. Not that she was lucky enough not to attract at least one set of eyes.

The mobile hunk of meat and shiny bald pate made his intentions known from the moment she claimed the seat. Maka wondered if the fact that she hardly spared him a look was too subtle when she felt something cold and hard poke her shoulder blades. _**Gods**_. She really wanted to punch something. She settled for rolling her eyes and turning around to pin her unwanted seatmate with a glare.

"Buzz off, Chunky. I am not interested."

And with that she turned her back and flipped her hair dismissively, praying all the while that the man would take a hint and just walked away. She really didn't need or want the aggravation of another hunk of meat to deal with when she was already surrounded by so much testosterone.

"I was trying to talk to you little Blondie."

"I'm sorry? Didn't you realize I was actually ignoring you exist? Wait, is this better?" she rose from her chair and started to walk past the persistent meathead when she felt a tight force pressing on her arm. She only had time to take one more look before she suddenly had her arm jerked back with such force that she landed on the hard, warm, unyielding lap of some hapless bystander. Furious and embarrassed beyond belief, her muscles tensed up in preparation for whaling the tar out of the presumptuous, grabby dead-meat that bothered her when something soft brushed by her ears stopping her as effectively as a ice-cold brick wall.

"Don't move."


	3. Chapter 3

"_**I like persons better than principles,**_

_**and I like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world."**_

_Oscar Wilde_

_

* * *

_

It was a voice that compels and commands...one suited for growling death threats or issuing unassailable commands. It was a voice that—_if so inclined_—could be as seductive and potent as the very wine of the gods. It was a pity that the owner of that particular voice was saying a grating, chiding complaint in her ear that made her want to commit murder in front of the bar's morally questionable clientele. The voice was also, for some reason, startling to sound oddly _familiar_.

"Don't move."

"What?" she muttered, her body still held immobile by her embarrassment. She tried to twist free when she felt hands like iron clamp even tighter against her hip. The voice in her ear hissed menacingly.

"I said don't move you stupid wench because if you upset my plate I will freakin rip you apart and cook you myself."

"You're freaking over food? Are you insane? You're holding on to me like some limpet on drugs just because of some disgusting meal? Who even eats in a place like this?"

"_**Hey—"**_

"Well excuse me, Ms. High and Picky-!Hey! I told you not to move!"

"Over some bar grub?"she asked incredulously.

The man that caused her to be dumped cleared his throat and tried to break into the conversation once more.

"_**Hey—"**_

"That and if you blow my cover I will dump your stupid fat butt on the floor and see if they have soap strong enough to clean you."

Maka jammed her elbow into her captor's stomach and tried once more to free herself. "What did you just call me you arrogant prick and where do you think your hand is going you jerk?"

The man snorted as if he was offended and shifted her like so much baggage on his thigh. "Like I would be desperate enough to grope you. Can it wench. I aint that drunk and there's not enough drug in this hell hole to make me. I'm just adjusting something ok?" he shifted a bit more and Maka felt the bite of something cold and metal against her skin before a shocking warmth replaced it.

"Adjusting something? Oh you are so deluding yourself, you Neanderthal! Is that what you scum call it nowadays? Would get your slimy grabby paws off my ass or I swear to god the first chance I get I will dump your dumb ass into this dump's filthy floor." She whispered in fury. Her hands were held together by a large make hand and she was shocked and dismayed at how much his strength could completely overpower her. It was humiliating to realize that for all her bravado and training, some meat-head could restrain her so effortlessly.

"Neaderthal huh? You got some mouth on you lady."

"What does my being a lady got anything to do with it? And you have no right commenting when you a stench that would fell a grown man!"

"Hey! I've been trying to talk to you bozos for the last five minutes here-!"Chunky's rant stopped abruptly. Two pairs of basilisk glares stopped whatever else that he wanted to say and in a voice as deep as one emerging from the very depths of hell.

"**SHUT UP AND GO AWAY!" **

As one, they watched the man stand still before slowly, warily backing away like a prey that suddenly stumbled across a pack of rabid predators. When it judged the distance to be enough, the meaty man turned and dived into the thrashing throng of people. As one, they looked away from the escaping piece of questionable human being and went back to their discussion as if nothing more interesting than a tumbleweed interrupted them.

"Idiot."

"Dumb-ass."

"Like you would have a cause to judge you barbarian."

"Oh for-! I swear you remind me of—oh holy pimpin' sheetos! Maka you idiot what the hell-!"

Maka blinked. And blinked. Then closed her eyes and slowly opened her eyes and blinked once more for good measure. Yep, sure enough, the vision before her was real. The man who held her was no stranger. It really was _**Black Star**_.

_No wonder the voice sounded familiar. Come to think of it, even the insults sounded familiar. That should've tipped me off._

It was a face as familiar as her own memories of childhood and home. A face she hadn't expected to stumble across in her new life. Black Star was a vivid reminder of another world—another life and yet here, in this alien environment he looked oddly at home. As he never seemed to managed back in the suburban climate of Death City. Here, amidst the acrid scent of smoke and booze, with the roughnecks and society rejects, he looked like a conquering hero. Her reminiscent of her ties with her captor was interrupted when her mind caught up with the fact of what he had done with her recently.

"You!You fuckin' numbnuts! Bla-uhmph!" her eyes raged her annoyance and disgust at being hushed in such a rough and barbaric manner but the intensity of her gaze was lost to the man who held her.

"Shut up you moron! Don't you use your head for anything other than reading?" A quick stomp of her heel on his toes stopped the torrent of words. Satisfied that she made her point she gasped when when mouth was finally freed but her captor wasn't quite finished with his hectoring.

"You don't shout out people's names in bars like this unless you own it or you don't care who knows you're in here. Are you trying to fuckin get me killed here?"

"I will fuckin massacre your lazy idiotic ass myself if you don't take your grimy hands off of me right now you jerk!" She gave a startled yelp when Black Star lifted her from his lap with barely any effort and with a dexterous move too bizarre to contemplate, used one of his legs to hook a nearby empty chair close, before depositing her unto it. She punched his arm the moment her feet were firmly planted in the floor once more. "And don't you ever do that again!"

"How was I to know it was you that landed on my lap? I didn't get a memo." He flicked a hand against her forehead and gave her a grin. "I meant every word though. You weigh a ton and you almost dumped my dinner on my lap."

"Oh like that's supposed to make me feel better about your indiscriminate groping and the fact that you nearly made me swallow that disgusting sweaty glove! If you think for one moment -!"

He cut her off with a finger wagging threateningly in front of her face. "You're the one not thinking clearly here Bookworm. This isn't some neighborhood block party you idiot."

Maka snorted, "Like I would even attend one. Believe me, this wouldn't be the place I'd want to be initiated in the dos and donts of socializing. What the hell are you doing here anyways?"

"Catching a bite—what else am I supposed to be doing in a bar?"he answered simply. Maka stared at her erstwhile childhood friend and one-time rival. She pursed her lips and gestured at the bar in one sweeping wave.

"You eat in restaurants dimwit. Only a Neanderthal would pick a bar as a meal source. You go to bars to get sloshed, thrashed or hooked up."

"So I'm saving time by being here. I can get food and then get sloshed. I can even hook up if I get insane enough. Stop being so damned picky. Everyone isn't like you. "

"You'd benefit from some kind of discretion."

"If it has more than two syllables I doubt it. And don't you go thinking that I haven't heard you give me an answer to my question. What the hell are you doing here?"

Though the playful tone remained, there was a watchful quality to Black Star's query. Maka sighed before allowing herself to remember why she actually ended up in the bar tonight. She looked down on the toe of her boots and tried to formulate the most accurate response that could satisfy a man of Black Star's nature. She decided that subterfuge would be lost on him and plain speaking would only be troublesome since logic never played much in her old friends repertoire. Fearsome warrior he was—logically inclined—not so much. She settled for something honest and short.

"Finishing up old business."

"Huh."

Well it certainly wasn't something she expected. Truthfully she was half braced for some kind of battle—a scheme to coerce answers from her but this—this was too much off the left field it shouldn't even be considered part of the playground. Incensed, she demanded an answer.

"What do you mean huh?"

Black Star looked her way before nodding almost as if confirming something he knew all along.

"Odd thing to say. Odd coincidence."

Maka's irritation grew. Pushing aside the remains of Black Star's demolished meal to the far edge of the table, she propped a chin on one palm and asked baldly,"Why?"

"Seems like tonight's a night for doing that. You're the second person to tell me that since I came here."

Maka gave out an exasperated sigh before reaching out and bopping him on the head.

"Idiot."

A pause

"Was it you?"

Black Star leveled her with a questioning gaze.

"Was I what?"

"The one who told them where I was?" She had to ask. She told herself that it was the kind of question she needed to ask if she wanted to survive a little longer—especially if she wanted to reach her ultimate goal. She needed to use her head for far more than just pursuing leads and extracting information from books.

Black Star gave her a look before hooting aloud in laughter, banging the table until the flimsy structure groaned in threat. He gave her an amused look before asking nonchalantly,

"Now why would I do something totally idiotic like that?"

Maka shifted uneasily on her chair. The narrow strip of leather was not enough of a cushion against the iciness of her seat. "Cause I know you. If the price's right—"

Black Star grinned. "Hey, now, I know what kind of work I do—but I don't sell out my friends. And I certainly won't do it free." He puffed out his chest and gave her his usual strong man pose. "I don't want the bad karma that comes from being a snitch."

She had to laugh at the bemused look that Black Star painted with his comical grin and oddly familiar posturing. "Sorry. Had to ask. I thought if I ran hard enough and far enough…this kind of thing wouldn't have to haunt me again."

"Huh."

"There's that 'huh' again. I should probably tell you that kind of talk doesn't inspire much confidence in your communication skills Black Star. Try words with actual recognizable syllables. You might make someone pay you more attention that way."

Black Star gave her a look and a derisive snort. "Like I care. I don't need their opinions. Mine is more than enough. It will be enough because if my opinion isn't enough then nothing will ever be. Mine is the only opinion that should bear any weight in matters that deal with me."

Maka looked at her friend with something akin to chagrin and weary resignation. She shook her head and tried to restrain the odd thread of amusement that's curling inside of her making her smile in spite of herself.

"Somewhere in that idiotic declaration, something ought to make sense to someone."

"It makes sense to me so that's more than enough."

"Right."

"So why are you here?"he asked. This time she told him.

"I heard rumors that the collector Desarel was going to be here. He has something I need."

In that instance something dark and dangerous crossed Black Star's eyes. Maka suddenly found herself being hauled to her feet and dragged unceremoniously through the grinding and bumping bodies across the packed dancefloor.

"Hey! What the—Black Star! What the heck are you doing? Wait up! Where are you taking me?"

"You idiot! You shouldn't be here tonight."he ground out.

Maka found that there were two kinds of strength that her friend displays—the kind that's startling and the kind that alarms. Tonight she has seen both and frankly she couldn't decide which one pisses her off more.

"Black Star don't be an idiot. I need to be in that bar. I have to see Desarel. He has what I need."

"You don't need the kind of shit that son-of-a-demon whore brings. Believe me. Desarel isn't for the likes of you."

"You don't understand. He is the last link I have to Thanatos. I need Desarel to find that thrice-damned book!"

"Trust me, you don't need it that badly."

"I don't have to listen to you, you big idiot. I am going back in there and if you think you could stop me you have another thing coming pal!"

"Why won't you listen just once? I'm trying to protect your stubborn dumb ass Bookworm!"

"I didn't ask you to, did I? Now stop trying to wrench my arm off and leave me—ohmmpph!"

Maka felt cold and then nothing but blessed darkness. She didn't see the strike Black Star expertly delivered on a nerve on her nape, nor did she have any consciousness left to protest when Black Star hoisted her off her feet and carried her over his shoulders like some booby prize he just won. And if that wasn't aggravating enough, the moment they passed by a hidden corner, Black Star lifted her up and deposited her unto yet another lap with nothing more than a grin and admonition.

"Hey, I need to clean up. Play nice. I'll be back."


End file.
